CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE-1 The Child
Do ye hear the children weeping
O my brother,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She began in a low voice...groping for words, looking at the faces around her,searching for understanding,reassurance.
Father (who incidentally is her stepfather) would give nice gifts
to us kids,play hide and seek with us...
It was in Kannada. Anju sitting next to me doing the job of the interpreter , was whispering the words in English into my ears.
With every present, he would hug me, kiss me, press me tightly to him,
make me sit on his lap...
She stopped, looking at her mother for a moment , moving closer to her.
I was his favourite,he would tell me. Then he started to teach me
these secret games which somehow made me feel bad. I was scared...
Her lips trembled, voice faltered.
He hurt me often, said I must not talk about it to anyone.
One day there was no else at home...
From there it was a torrent of words. With wild gesticulations intermingled with sobs, she came to the climax of her narration.Terror in her eyes and tears on her cheeks. somehow along the line I could hear Anju's voice faltering. But I couldnt take my eyes away from the horror that was being enacted infront of my eyes. The poor child was reliving every painful moment of the horrible experience. I wanted to ask her to stop, but felt powerless to move. Anju had stopped her interpretation. But I didnt need to be told what the kid was trying to say. i knew what it was- the horror, the pain. Oh God, didnt I?
Then eveything came to an end. the child stopped talking, her head buried in the sympathetic , reassuring, strong bosom of asha, the heart and soul of the NGO who was helping such unfortunate children to pick up their shattered lives.
I looked around me and was surprised to find that most of the eyes around me were moist , some of them even had their faces covered in their kerchieves. But all the women sitting in the small room had given me the impression of belonging quite confidently to the 21st century - the new "successful" women who could juggle a responsible job, and demanding family with quiet ease.
The look in the eyes of the gentleman sitting next to me caught my attention.He had a desolate expression on his face...that look of a small boywho had lost his way. Then I realised that ,that was what we all were deep inside - small kids , terribly insecure, feeling lost and lets admit it, feeling dirty,soiled and ashamed of ourselves - ashamed of something which we had not done.
Do we ever come out of this? Will we ever be able to make it in life? This journey from the victim to the survivor is not an easy one. But life has to go on. Ofcourse we will learn to overcome this. but how do we save our children from these horrid nightmares? Are we capable of building up a better world for them?
Let us move on...we have to
O my brother,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She began in a low voice...groping for words, looking at the faces around her,searching for understanding,reassurance.
Father (who incidentally is her stepfather) would give nice gifts
to us kids,play hide and seek with us...
It was in Kannada. Anju sitting next to me doing the job of the interpreter , was whispering the words in English into my ears.
With every present, he would hug me, kiss me, press me tightly to him,
make me sit on his lap...
She stopped, looking at her mother for a moment , moving closer to her.
I was his favourite,he would tell me. Then he started to teach me
these secret games which somehow made me feel bad. I was scared...
Her lips trembled, voice faltered.
He hurt me often, said I must not talk about it to anyone.
One day there was no else at home...
From there it was a torrent of words. With wild gesticulations intermingled with sobs, she came to the climax of her narration.Terror in her eyes and tears on her cheeks. somehow along the line I could hear Anju's voice faltering. But I couldnt take my eyes away from the horror that was being enacted infront of my eyes. The poor child was reliving every painful moment of the horrible experience. I wanted to ask her to stop, but felt powerless to move. Anju had stopped her interpretation. But I didnt need to be told what the kid was trying to say. i knew what it was- the horror, the pain. Oh God, didnt I?
Then eveything came to an end. the child stopped talking, her head buried in the sympathetic , reassuring, strong bosom of asha, the heart and soul of the NGO who was helping such unfortunate children to pick up their shattered lives.
I looked around me and was surprised to find that most of the eyes around me were moist , some of them even had their faces covered in their kerchieves. But all the women sitting in the small room had given me the impression of belonging quite confidently to the 21st century - the new "successful" women who could juggle a responsible job, and demanding family with quiet ease.
The look in the eyes of the gentleman sitting next to me caught my attention.He had a desolate expression on his face...that look of a small boywho had lost his way. Then I realised that ,that was what we all were deep inside - small kids , terribly insecure, feeling lost and lets admit it, feeling dirty,soiled and ashamed of ourselves - ashamed of something which we had not done.
Do we ever come out of this? Will we ever be able to make it in life? This journey from the victim to the survivor is not an easy one. But life has to go on. Ofcourse we will learn to overcome this. but how do we save our children from these horrid nightmares? Are we capable of building up a better world for them?
Let us move on...we have to
posted by Achinthya at 10:29 PM
6 Comments:
വായിച്ചു.
I was watching a documentry of a girl couple of years ago. Her own father (not step) who abused her until the age of 13. She grew up, became a journalist. She works as an activist in helping abused children like her. Then after couple of years, she decided she had to forgive him for her mental peace. Her own blood!
She confronted her father who now is very old and frail. She told her papa "I know you hurt me. But I forgive you"
And that dad said "I didnt do anything. It was all in your head"
I wished I had a gun as I heard that.
I am sure those words hurt her more! I can never take that reply of her father out of my head.
It's really sad that we still hear stories like this which leaves us pondering about the safety of our little ones. I just don't know how we can tackle this issue. May be we should have stricter legal procedures to put the perpetrator behind the bars for the rest of his life and we must ensure total secrecy/protection to the victim from prying eyes of media
This comment has been removed by the author.
kumar, thanks.
Injikkunji,
yes. I understand.The bastard was capable of saying worse things, believe me.And the girl was abused again albeit in a different way, alle.
Rowdy, Thanks for coming here.
"It's really sad that we still hear stories like this "?
what do u mean by still? darling it is worse now, the difference being that the whole thing is more organised and done in amore perfect, business-like manner.
A recent report shows 40% of girls (5-20) suffering these kind of problems .In most cases they are getting these kinds of problems from their own relatives. Among them few girls share these problems with their parents. But parents never tell these to others coz they never wants to spoil their daughter’s future. So what you think. What’s the solution? If I would be the judge beyond doubt will cut their organ.
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